


Candlelight

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Corrin's dragon blood actually makes her more draconic, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Torture, absolutely not inspired by watching the shape of water (okay maybe it was), guess who's back on her bullshit (Writing corrin/felicia), somewhat beauty and the beast-y, takes place in castle krakenburg because its super cool and was under-utilized in the games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 05:17:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14049741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: Following the successful ambush of King Sumeragi's diplomatic party in Cheve, the Nohrian army returns to Castle Krakenburg with precious cargo in tow - a mysterious monster, a creature that the Hoshidan king had given his life to defend. Charged with taking care of the monster, Felicia finds herself at odds with much of the castle and military leaders...and mysteriously drawn to the monster herself.The story of a borderline-feral manakete locked up in Castle Krakenburg and the helpless maid who will do all in her power to save her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! Ignore the tags, this was entirely written because I watched The Shape of Water and wanted to do something similar with my favorite monster/maid couple. I also wanted to take an opportunity to explore a little more about Nohr's culture and Castle Krakenburg, which is a fascinating and beautiful city that is unfortunately underutilized in the game itself. So enjoy! 
> 
>  
> 
> God I miss writing these two. Hey go check out Tiny Dots on an Endless Timeline, my first Corrin/Felicia fic.
> 
>  
> 
> Apologies to anyone subscribed to me for my unfinished WIPs, I promise I'll get to 'em.

“Oh, no, not again!”

Flora looked up with resignation at her sister, watching her flail in a vain attempt to catch a plate as it bounced between her hands as if were rubber rather than porcelain.

“Oh!” with one last cry of protest she flopped to the ground, faceplanting on the cold stone floor as the plate shattered in front of her.

Flora sighed and wiped her hands, drying them in the ruffles of her skirt. “Felicia, if you keep messing up, one of these days they’re going to fire us and send us back home.”

Felicia pushed herself to her knees, a mask of weary disappointment on her face. “Maybe that’d be for the best. I can’t seem to do anything right.”

Flora crossed the cramped kitchen and knelt at her sister’s side. “I’m kidding. You know it’s not like we have any choice.” She reached out a hand.

Felicia took it and allowed Flora to pull her up to a standing position.

“I’ll get a broom. Just…” Flora bit her lip. “Just don’t touch anything else, okay?”

Felicia nodded.

As Flora cleaned up her mess – again – Felicia tried to make her way back to the washbasin to continue cleaning dishes. She reached out and before her finger even connected with another plate Flora stopped sweeping and looked up.

“I told you not to touch anything.”

“I don’t want to leave it all for you!” saying so, Felicia took a plate of the stack of dirty dishes, which wobbled precariously as she did.

Flora groaned and tightened her grip on her broom. “Just be careful, okay?”

The two maids worked together diligently, if not cooperatively. Flora finished sweeping up and emptied the dustpan out into a bin before returning to Felicia’s side.

Kitchen duty, again. They had a system down, though Flora might have preferred if she could have done all the work. Felicia washed, Flora dried and stacked. Wash, dry, stack. Wash, dry, stack. The routine was interrupted only by occasional moments of klutziness – splashes of shattered porcelain, rivulets of blood, the occasional dishwater-sopped maid uniform. One unfortunate incident involving a rat and a lot of broken wineglasses. It was dreary work, but at the same time it was better than the alternative. The weather had been growing worse, so outdoor duties were often rain-soaked drudgery. Some of the other maids had taken on permanent positions in the infirmary, and Flora couldn’t stomach all that blood.

Felicia didn’t hate the kitchen, but she did despise her own clumsy fingers. No matter the duty - were it cooking, cleaning, laundry, hospice care, stable cleaning, or castle repairs – she always found herself falling to pieces. Food was always burnt, dishes broken. Any repairs she oversaw often ended up in a worse state than when they began. She had worked a single shift in the infirmary and passed out after less than an hour. To be fair to her, though, no one had quite expected the garrison to take such heavy losses.

So kitchen duty it was – another long night in a cramped stone kitchen, an interminable march of pans and plates and trays and silver. Felicia would cut herself on a knife, as usual, and bleed all over her uniform and then try to clean it with water from the washbasin, but that water was dirty and it would make her uniform even worse. And Flora would do the bulk of the work, her duties doubled by the need to fix her sister’s mistakes. And so it was, night after night, the endless march of toil under the dark Nohrian sky.

Castle Krakenburg never rested, it seemed.

A night several days before had proven that, when Felicia and Flora had been roused from their slumber in the dead of the night to assist with the caretaking of returning troops. It had been the king’s private guard, an envoy from some city to the south. Macarath, perhaps. Maybe Cheve. They had returned in the dead of the night, clothes stained with blood, weapons bent and twisted, armor cracked and dented. Felicia had been assisting a mounted soldier in dismounting from his horse when she spied it – for just a moment, glimpsed through a hole in the torn fabric of a covered wagon. Eyes looking out into the night, dark and red. Piercing. Eyes that made her shudder, made her drop the soldier into the dirt.

She shivered, even now, in the warm kitchen, remembering.

“Dear sister, must you space out at the worst times?” Flora hissed.

“H-huh?” Felicia shook her head, strawberry blonde hair waving as she did. “What?”

Flora elbowed her in the stomach, the blow pulling Felicia from the depths of memory and back into the lamplight-drenched kitchen of the present.

A man was standing in the doorway, his face obscured in shadow.

Felicia dropped her plate into the sink with a soft _splish_. She hastily straightened her dress and bowed.

“Evening, milord,” Flora said politely. “Is there something we can assist you with?”

“You two,” the figure said. His voice was gruff and low. “The king’s advisor would like to see you.”

“Right away, sir.” Flora bowed and Felicia clumsily followed suit.

“He requested you bring some things. A dish of water, and meat.”

“Meat?” Flora said, clearing her throat. “Sir?”

The man in the doorway nodded. “Any will do. He wants you to meet him in the atrium in twenty minutes.” He left, shutting the door behind him.

Felicia turned and gawked at her sister. “What? What could he possibly want?”

Flora rested her hands on her hips. “I’m not sure.”

“Are you nervous?” Felicia asked.

“I…I’m not sure.”

 

* * *

 

Felicia held the wooden tray nervously, opting to stare at the slab of raw meat rather than look her superior in the eyes.

“I’m pleased to see you can follow instructions,” the king’s advisor said, pushing back his black, greasy bangs. “Even despite your…tendencies.”

Felicia winced. Master Iago never had even an ounce of tolerance for failure, and there seemed to be nothing he hated more than incompetence.

“Of course, milord,” Flora said politely. She held in her hands a wooden serving bowl filled with water and Felicia could see her nervous fingers fidgeting with the rim of the bowl.

“Come along, now,” Iago said, turning and pacing away. “The others will be here shortly to join us.” He led the two maids through the darkened halls of the castle, past rows of torches illuminating framed portraits of stern faces and dark eyes. Felicia walked carefully, her heels digging into the carpet, praying with each step that she wouldn’t do something foolish or make a mess.

She wasn’t _afraid_ of Iago, per se. Well, maybe she was, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him know that – or let anyone other than Flora know, for that matter. No matter the harsh demeanor of the lords, no matter their cruel words and their painful hands and their strict punishments and their impressive mustaches, Felicia had vowed to keep herself resolute. She would fail but she would try again, and she would be a model of the strength and grace of the Ice Tribe. Like her father. Like her sister. She wouldn’t let these mean lords keep her down, no matt-“OH!” she stumbled, catching her foot on the ridge between carpet and stone.

She staggered, clutching tight to her tray as she collided with a wall. She managed to keep ahold of it and avert major disaster, though she did cow at Iago’s angry and impatient glare.

“Are you quite finished?”

“S-sorry, milord!” Felicia bobbed her head in a slight bow.

Iago grumbled and muttered something about the help under his breath.

“M-milord?” Felicia asked, hoping conversation would keep her head more in the moment. “What’s all this about, anyway?”

“Hrm,” Iago growled. “I suppose having you faint wouldn’t do. I’m sure you two recall that King Garon has been in Cheve with his personal guard?”

Felicia nodded. It had been a diplomatic mission, though the men returning stained with blood indicated otherwise.

“Those foolish Hoshidans waltzed right into a trap that our illustrious king had designed,” Iago continued, gloating to two girls who scrubbed dishes in the castle all day and had no investment in the war whatsoever. “It was a master stroke, if I do say so myself.” He turned, suddenly more serious. “We captured something. A horrible monster the Hoshidans had yet to employ on the battlefield, but now they will have no chance.”

“A monster?!” Felicia stammered. “Really?”

Iago smiled, his lips pulled tight against his crooked teeth. “But more importantly, King Sumeragi is dead.”

“Dead?” Flora said, speaking up for the first time. “What do you mean?”

Iago turned with a flourish and mimicked the motion of arrows plunging into his own chest. “Dead, because he was too much of a damned fool to let his disgusting little pet come to harm.”

 “What will Shirasagi do? Are we going to war?” Flora asked gravely. Felicia was still reeling from the thought of a monster. Faceless were one thing – frightening but artificial, more like automatons than real boogeymen. Wolfskin, too, were frightening but close enough to human. But a real _monster_ …she let her mind wander, conjuring up images of gnashing teeth and bloody claws and horrible eyes. She stopped in her tracks.

The covered wagon. That must have been the monster. Felicia stared at the meat on her tray. _Oh_.

“Do try to keep up,” Iago snapped, polite but harsh. Felicia shook her head. Flora and Iago were talking in hushed tones, Flora asking serious questions about war, about troop movements, using words like _retaliation_ and _impunity_ and _overwhelming force_.

Ahead of them, down the hall, were three men dressed in finery betraying their noble status. They weren’t lords Felicia recognized, but with the frequency with which wealthy men and women came and went from the castle, she wasn’t expecting to. They were standing in a semi-circle, talking in hushed tones.

Iago opened his arms with a flourish. “Gentlemen, gentlemen! Sorry for keeping you waiting.”

One of the men, a lean, tan man with dark hair, furrowed his brow. “It’s late, Iago. I hope you have good reason for rousing us from our quarters.”

“Of course, milord,” Iago bowed. “I’m sure you’ve heard of our great success in Cheve.

“Mmhm,” one of the other men stroked his thick beard and nodded. “The Hoshidans are in quite the disarray, it would seem. Your doing, no doubt.”

Iago grinned, somehow seeming both humble and smug. “I cannot take _all_ the credit. It was our king that executed the plan flawlessly.”

“At any rate, we’re burning lamplight,” the third man, tall, with wiry glasses on his nose, checked his watch. “I was told you have something to show us.”

“Yes, yes,” Iago gestured for them to follow. Flora and Felicia trailed behind, shooting each other nervous glances.

“I was told it was something for the war effort,” the glasses-wearing man continued. “Some terrible beast the Hoshidans have been using in combat. Said to even rival the strength of the Kitsune.”

Iago chuckled as they came to a heavy wooden door. He sifted through a keyring at his belt as he spoke. “Not exactly, milord. A beast, to be sure. One to rival the strength of any creature yet known, as well. But we managed to catch it before it did any real damage. The Hoshidans won’t even have a chance, and now we have an asset that will give us an edge.”

They passed through the low doorway and Felicia immediately wrinkled her nose. She hated the dungeons. They smelled of rot, and she always slipped on some gross muck that she made a point of _not_ figuring out what it was. Sometimes at night, when she was sweeping the outside hall, she could hear the wailing and moaning. It was terrible. She had to admit it was some comfort to be here with others, though. Master Iago was vile scum, for certain, but no one would dare oppose him. Felicia inched closer to Flora. She wished she had a free hand to grab Flora’s with.

“Watch your heads, gentlemen,” Iago said as they emerged from the twisting staircase into the dungeon proper. It was a winding maze of corridors, an endless sea of heavy wooden doors and iron padlocks and rusted hinges, behind which lived all manner of vile monstrosities. Nohr cared not for justice, at least not in the sense that Felicia understood. Bandits, thieves, murderers – justice was swift for them, and the sentence was often death. That was, if they weren’t snuffed out by their fellows first. They met their justice out in the world, not in the dark cellars beneath Castle Krakenburg.

No, the dungeons were a special sort of hell, entirely removed from the hell of Nohr’s hard, cold landscape. A hell reserved for those Nohr did indeed deem villainous – traitors, liars, deserters, treasonous men and women. Anyone who wronged a noble who was particularly cruel. Sometimes even the maids and servants in a house that opposed the king – imprisoned for their complicity, as the king would tell it.

They passed through another hall, lit with flickering torches set into rusted metal sconces. A rat scurried along the floor, prompting Felicia to emit a slight “eep!” before leaping into Flora, who shook her head. They could hear the sounds of distant moaning. The victims of some horrific torture, no doubt. Iago’s men often tested new hexes on prisoners, and Felicia got the sense that death was a mercy compared to what awaited the victims of these horrid halls. Her mind conjured up images of the worst sorts of torture she could imagine – something about toenails, no doubt. Perhaps hot irons in places hot irons ought not be.

They rounded a corner, Iago still blathering on about his master strategy or something equally droll, and found themselves in a final stretch of hallway. Set into the far wall was a heavy wooden door, oak and banded iron set into the stone with an array of thick black padlocks. Felicia gulped. What sort of monster would they be keeping here? In the bowels of the dungeon, the farthest reaches of the blackened heart of Castle Krakenburg, guarded by patrolling soldiers, kept locked tight by one, two, no, three padlocks.

Felicia came to a halt next to Flora. She held the tray with one hand and with her other reached out to clasp her sister’s. Flora’s face was stone but she offered a comforting squeeze, a slight wave of warm magic flowing between them. Felicia put on a brave face and smiled at her.

“And here we are at long last, gentlemen,” Iago said, stepping up to the door. He unlatched the cover of a small porthole and gestured. “Please, take a look.”

The first volunteer, the tall, clean-shaven man, pressed his face to the porthole.

The others, Felicia and Flora included, watched with bated breath.

“Well? What is it?” the man with glasses asked impatiently.

The man at the porthole frowned. He squinted, looked at Iago. Then back through the porthole. Then back at Iago again.

“Is it dead?”

Iago frowned. “Sleeping, no doubt. It’s an animal, remember. More often than not, it is either eating or sleeping.”

The man pressed his face against the porthole again. His brow furrowed. “What kind of game are you playing here, Iago?”

“I assure you, no game at all.”

The man stepped back from the porthole. “No game? Then please, by all means. Explain why you’ve dragged me from my bed at midnight, filling my head with promises of spectacle and power, and now you show me this? A girl?”

Flora and Felicia looked at each other.

Iago growled. “That is no girl. While that beast may wear human skin, what lies inside is nothing but a monster.”

The man shook his head. “I’ve had enough of your foolishness.”

With a click, Iago unlocked the first padlock. “By all means,” he said, fishing for the second key. “Go. Back to your bed.” He slid the second key into its corresponding lock.

The man licked his lips. It was a game. Iago was a worm, that much was certain. He was a snake, but even his most treacherous lies held grains of truth. How much of what he said was true? Could it be not a girl, as it appeared, but a monster? Impossible.

But as the second lock slid open, the man couldn’t help but feel dread creeping up his spine. He looked to his comrades for their approval. For anything.

Everyone, maid and noble alike, became suddenly, intensely, _intimately_ aware of their surroundings. The flicker of flame, the dripping of water somewhere in the distance. The creak of iron, the low moans punctuated by roars of pain or anger or the crackling of distant magic. And yet _this_ door was silent. Heavy, ominous, but silent. No sound came from the room beyond.

A third click as the final lock was undone. Iago, always with a flair for the dramatic, let the lock clatter to the floor. He rested his hand on the door’s handle.

“Now, gentlemen. Those of you interested in the future of our nation’s army, come with me. Those of you who would prefer your silken sheets…” he grinned. “I’m sure you can find your own way back.”

Felicia shuddered. She had been expecting an evening of dishes. Not this. Not…whatever this was. She gripped her tray tighter, trying to ignore the slab of raw meat between her hands. _She_ certainly couldn’t find her way back without Iago’s help. Maybe Flora could.

“Good,” Iago said when the three noblemen remained motionless. “Now…” he tugged the door. It scraped across the dungeon’s stone floor slowly, raking like nails across a chalkboard.

A thick, heady musk poured into the hall, the distinct scent of something _inhuman_. Felicia wrinkled her nose. Iago let the door swing wide, hitting into the wall with a _THUMP_ that made Felicia jump. She tried hard to still her thrumming heart.

Iago gestured to the open door. “Would the gentlemen like to go first?”

The men shook their heads. “You’re the expert here, Iago,” said the bearded man. “You ought go first.”

“Afraid?” Iago sneered. “I thought it was but a girl.”

“Damn you, just get on with it!” the clean-shaven man growled.

Iago ducked to walk into the doorway. The three noblemen followed suit, then Flora and Felicia at last.

Felicia stifled a gasp.

It was a small room, low ceiling, no windows, no light save what bled in from the hallway. The floor was barren, not even cracks or seams in the smooth stone. A single metal grate was embedded in the center of the floor, no doubt a drain that emptied into the sewers that ran the length of the city. Felicia shuddered and the words “blood gutter” sprang to her mind, no doubt a phrase dredged up from some awful pulpy novella she had read long ago.

On the far side of the room, curled in a pile of matted hay, was the thing itself.

It…it _was_ a girl.

Felicia gaped. For all intents and purposes, the thing Iago had been speaking of in such dramatic terms all evening was nothing but a young girl, her slender limbs curled tightly around herself. Silver hair shimmered in the torchlight, bright despite being matted and greasy. Long pointed ears poked out from underneath her hair. She was unmoving, even her breathing barely making her torso rise and fall. Her tight fetal position didn’t give a good sense of her age nor her size, but one thing was certain-

“Iago, you can’t keep this thing locked up!” the man with the beard proclaimed. “It’s just a little girl!”

Iago sighed and drew a short sword from a sheath at his side. “Time to wake up!” he snarled, dragging the blade against the wall. It made an awful scraping sound. He concluded the motion by hitting the sword against the floor next to the girl’s head with a loud _CLANG_.

She opened her eyes slowly. When she spotted Iago she instinctively scrambled backwards in a flurry of limbs and silver hair. As she did she revealed a heavy metal collar wound tight around her neck. A chain connected her to the wall, so even as she tried to move backwards away from Iago, the collar caught her and yanked her neck tightly. She tugged and reached up, frantically scrabbling at her neck with stained, bloody fingers. She clawed frantically heedless of her clearly chipped fingernails.

Iago scowled. “Stupid mutt. It didn’t work last time you tried, and it won’t work this time either.”

The girl stopped, her bleeding fingers resting on the edge of the collar. Her chest was heaving and her eyes were wild. She finally seemed to have noticed her visitors. She blinked slowly, and the assembled guests gasped.

Her eyes were slits, reptilian pupils set deep into wide red eyes. As she blinked a nictitating membrane slid horizontally across her eyes, an inner eyelid that closed a second before her eyes shut. She blinked several times, her gaze wandering across the two maids, the stern advisor, and the three lords. She sat motionless, though her chest still heaved. She blinked again.

Felicia stared. There was no doubt anymore. The piercing red eyes were one and the same. Those eyes that had haunted her nightmares these past few days, those eyes that always seemed to be there in the dark corners late at night. They were not the eyes of a monster. They were the eyes of a young girl, scared and alone and helpless.

“Gods,” the bespectacled man whispered. “What a freak.”

The girl cocked her head to the side and peered at him.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Dear gods, Iago. Can it understand us?”

Iago shrugged. “We have yet to determine that. Garon seems insistent that it does indeed understand Nohrian, though in my experience it doesn’t appear to.”

“You keep saying ‘it’,” the bearded man said. “Being an abomination is an unfortunate mistake of nature, not a crime. I thought it was a beast, but this is just a girl.”

Iago nodded. “So it does appear. Ladies,” he said, gesturing to the maids.

As Felicia slipped between two of the men, she could see the girl in the cell’s eyes immediately fixate on the slab of meat on her tray. She leapt forward, stopped only by the short length of chain that yanked her back. She struggled against the chain, pulling despite the collar pressing against her neck.

Felicia, startled, stumbled backwards into one of the lords. He gently caught her, though it was evident that he was startled and fearful as well.

The creature lunged again, tugging with all her might against the metal brace, flopping to the floor in a heap and scrabbling again with bloody fingers at the collar. She rolled, the collar catching her throat and squeezing. As it choked her she opened her mouth, displaying a row of sharp white fangs. She snarled and unwound herself from the chain deliberately before lunging again, fangs bared and drool foaming at her lips. She gnashed her teeth and a forked reptilian tongue flopped out from between her lips. She lunged again, accidentally burying her fangs in her tongue and drawing blood that mixed with the foaming drool.

“Enough taunting it,” Iago said at last. He plucked the hunk of meat from Felicia’s tray and threw it at the girl. It hit the stone ground with a wet slap and the girl dove at it, scooping it up in her hands and shoving it into her mouth, tearing with her fangs and ripping chunks off with her clawed hands. She wolfed it down in seconds, the only evidence that it had been there stains of blood running down her chin and hands.

Iago grabbed the bowl of water Flora had brought and tossed careless. It clattered to the floor, spilling most of its contents. The girl attacked again, lapping at the water with her forked tongue on all fours. She finally gave up and picked up the bowl, bringing it to her lips and pouring it down her throat, heedless of the water spilling down her cheeks and splattering her threadbare prison garb. She finished the contents of the bowl and let it drop to the floor.

Felicia and Flora clasped on to each other tightly behind the other men, fearful.

“I trust that little demonstration was sufficient?” Iago asked, sheathing his sword.

One of the men spoke up, his voice shaking slightly. “Gods, Iago. What is that thing? Why does it look like a human?”

“That, my dear sirs,” Iago said with a smug grin. “Is a dragon.”

“A dragon?” The bearded lord said incredulously. “Surely you jest, Iago.”

Iago shook his head. “No, sir. I kid you not. That is a dragon. Perhaps the last dragon, as King Garon tells it.”

The man with glasses tapped Iago’s arm. “I’ve read that dragon blood contains vastly useful compounds and magical properties. Would it be possible to take some samples for studies? Just blood, hair, a tooth, perhaps. That sort of thing.”

Iago grinned. “Of course, sir, of course. I’m sure we can get you all some samples for study.” He turned to the girl huddled in the corner. “Behold, gentlemen. The future of the Nohrian army.”

Felicia stared at the girl. She was pressed back against the very corner of the cell, the thick iron collar heavy around her neck. Her eyes were wild, her chest was heaving, and what looked like fear could have easily been taken for bestial, animalistic rage.


	2. Chapter 2

Felicia stared at the ceiling, watching the lengthening shadows as light crept through her window. It wasn’t natural light – there wasn’t a whole lot of that in Windmire. It was the ambient glow of the city waking up, streetlamps being lit with glows of orange magic, homes and businesses turning on gaslamps and lighting furnaces and boilers. With so many people crammed into such a tight space, the city created its own artificial dawn, rousing the workers from their slumber and into another day.

Felicia hadn’t slept a wink, and already she knew each passing second was drawing her closer and closer to her own morning duties.

She tried to remember the schedule. Flora was on laundry duty, so she got to sleep in, the lucky girl. Felicia was supposed to help with breakfast. She squeezed her eyes shut. _Oh, gods. It’ll be just like last time, I bet._

Toast wasn’t hard, theoretically. Eggs were tricky but given enough tries she could get it, theoretically. She could juice oranges, too. Theoretically.

She knew all the tasks by heart. She could work through the steps in her mind. But for some reason, when it came to convincing her clumsy little hands to actually _do_ the damn thing, she always fell apart. Even as she worked through the steps mentally in her mind, she couldn’t help but let her troubled thoughts bleed in. Mix the dough. Knead the dough. Then…she couldn’t remember the next step. She had baked bread a dozen times. A hundred. Burnt it just as many, but she should be able to remember the step. Instead, all she could think of were those eyes. That face. Gnashing fangs.

She closed her eyes. It had been a long, sleepless night. She was going to be useless the next day – well, even more so than usual. Try again.

Mix the dough. Flour, yeast, water, sugar, salt, oil.

Fangs.

Knead the dough. Flour the table. Roll. Knead.

Pointed ears.

Grease the bread pan. Place dough inside. Cover. Let rise.

Inner eyelids sliding across scarlet eyes.

Punch the dough. Shape into loaves.

Bloody fingers clawing at a thick iron collar.

Felicia rolled over and tugged her pillow tight around her head. It was no use. That _thing_ was all she could think about. It wasn’t fear, not exactly, though fear was an element. There was something else, some sort of morbid, curious fixation. The thought of something so truly otherworldly living beneath the very halls she swept and dusted daily. The bowels of the dungeon housing a real, genuine dragon.

Felicia didn’t know enough about dragons to dispute it, but she had been all but certain dragons didn’t look like that. They had wings, right? And scales. The teeth were right, sure. And the eyes too. But Felicia had seen the carven bas-reliefs of the Dusk Dragon that dotted the streets of the capitol city. She had seen the sculptures and paintings of Nohr’s patron deity, and it was anything but a small girl. It was, well – a dragon! A big ol’ lizard.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a clock chiming in her ears. She groaned and closed her eyes, knowing the ringing wouldn’t stop until she got up and dealt with it her damn self. But the last thing she wanted to do was get up and get dressed for work.

“Ffffma…” a groan emanated from beneath Felicia’s bed.

Felicia sighed and opened her eyes.

Another groan. “FffFFmmphaaA!” It was almost entirely unintelligible, but more urgent.

Felicia slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position and blinked, surveying the bedroom. She was on the top bunk of a heavy wooden bed. The alarm rang in her ears.

“FELICIA, TURN THAT DAMN THING OFF!” the voice came again, with sudden clarity.

Felicia shook her head and bounded out of bed, landing on the floor with a soft thump. “S-sorry!” she stammered, fumbling her way to the dresser to hit the alarm clock.

“Mm…” Flora mumbled again, rolling over, evidently back to sleep as soon as the ringing clock shut off.

Felicia stared at the now-silent clock, watching the hands ticking away in their slow revolutions. She sighed and slumped over, leaning on the dresser. She felt exhausted. The idea of putting on her uniform felt impossible, a herculean task that she’d never be able to pull off in time. She looked down at her thin pajamas, or what passed for them – just a plain white nightgown overtop her slender frame. She sighed. No sense in going to work barefoot.

She started her day as she always did – the lengthy process to don her uniform was the one thing she _didn’t_ mess up, her other failures notwithstanding. She pulled on her black dress, tied the white ruffled bow around her waist, adjusted her collar. She fussed with her brooch, her fingers tracing over the smooth blue stone. She looked at herself in the mirror, still half-dressed. Focusing on her routine kept that _thing_ out of her mind.

She pulled on her leggings next before turning her attention to her hair. She stuck a hairtie in her mouth as she set her headband on her brow and began to gather up her long, straight locks of strawberry-blonde hair.

There was some comfort in the routine. She adored the uniform, far more than the plain clothes of her home village. The Ice Tribe were a modest people, trim of black feathers and silver metal often the closest their clothing got to ostentatious. Felicia looked at herself in the mirror. She smiled. Curtsied. Tilted her head to the side.

She stopped by Flora’s bedside before departing, bending over and saying goodbye before venturing out into the halls of the castle.

Felicia always thought it was odd to call Krakenburg a castle. Castles went up, high towers protruding into the sky, spires of piled stone adorned with flags, all parapets and turrets and battlements. In contrast, Krakenburg went down, a spiraling chasm burying deep into the earth, a punched spear wound on the flat, barren landscape of Nohr.

She emerged from her quarters onto the stone walkway that encircled the upper levels of the chasm. She stopped at the edge, resting her hands lightly on the stone balustrade. A hot breeze flowed upwards from the bottom of the chasm, geothermal heat that clashed with the chilly Nohrian sky here in the upper levels. The deeper into the city, the warmer the air got. The lowest levels even had craggy lava flows, as some of the maids told it. The bowels of the city were seldom occupied though, only ever visited by mages, engineers, and occasional guard patrols. Rumor was that execution by lava was once a routine tradition of the royal family, but that was likely hogwash. Felicia hoped.

At any rate, Felicia spent most of her time on the upper rim of the city, where her quarters were, or in King Garon's fortress. Below her, far below, she could see the keep proper – the great tower buried in the earth that housed the king and his family. She spent most of her time in the keep, and it was for the guards and royals that she would be preparing – or, attempting to prepare – breakfast. 

Stone walkways protruded out of the keep on all sides and at all heights, walkways connecting it to the outer wall. Felicia sighed and began her long trek downwards. The servants were, of course, forbidden from staying in the castle. What passed for her commute was mostly stairs, stairs down and down and down, stone spiral staircases descending to the castle. She had been afraid of heights when she and Flora had first been brought to Windmire, and those narrow walkways still made her nervous.

She walked carefully, wishing they would have put railings up or _something_. Her heels clicked on the stone, a constant reminder of the instability of her own feet.

Above her, high above, the sky was murky and gray. She wondered if she could see stars, were she at the surface. Probably not. The common people lived on the surface, in shanty-towns and slums piled together in haphazard heaps, the sky so often choked by smoke. Windmire’s industrial district was above, constantly churning, the forge fires burning at all hours to pump out shields and swords and armor and lances and all sorts of things designed for ending human lives.

Closer to the castle, at the upper lip of the chasm, were the residential districts of the wealthy. The districts were separated by concentric rings of stone, thick walls to keep the destitute from the common rabble and the common rabble from the wealthy and the wealthy from the nobility. Felicia hated the surface, almost as much as she hated Krakenburg. It was always either too crowded or eerily vacant, and she wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Good morning, Felicia,” said one of the castle guards, a friendly young man with sandy hair.

“Hello, Oswin,” she said, her normally cheerful demeanor unavoidably weary.

“You sound pretty tired,” he said, unlocking the door to the service entrance. “Sleep okay?”

Felicia yawned and waved him off. “It’s fine, just…bad dreams.”

Oswin nodded and gestured. “Well, you best get moving. Seems like everyone’s up and about early this mornin’.”

“Oh?” Felicia asked.

“Somethin’ about some prisoner, from what I’ve heard.”

Felicia’s heart sunk. She had been so preoccupied with her commute and her endlessly racing thoughts that she had, just briefly, forgotten just why she was so tired.

“You feelin’ well?” Owsin returned to his placement beside the door and tapped the shaft of his lance. “You look pale as a ghost.”

Felicia nodded. “Y-yeah. Thanks,” she said, her voice shaky.

True to the guard’s word, the castle was a beehive of activity already. Servants and maids rushed to and fro, fetching supplies and stationery and trays of food and pitchers of water. Guards walked briskly through the halls, roughly shouldering past her as she wandered in a sleepy haze. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go, and everyone seemed awfully serious, and she seemed to be perpetually in the way.

Felicia made her way to the kitchen and reported to her shift leader, a stern woman named Lara who looked to be in a sour mood. She frowned even as Felicia approached.

“G-good morning, Miss Lara!” Felicia stammered, doing her best to stand up straight.

“It’s about time you showed up,” she snapped, not even looking at Felicia and instead turning to shout orders to other frantically scurrying maids and butlers.

“I-is there something I can help with?”

Lara turned to her, her eyes glowering. “No, I thought you could just stand there like an idiot all morning.”

Felicia opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by her superior shouting something about keeping those pans away from the stove. Felicia winced. Lara’s voice was sharp and high, cutting through the din of the kitchen and piercing directly into her brain. Even when she _wasn’t_ getting yelled at, she always felt like Lara was scolding her.

“Are you stupid or something?” she snapped, again bouncing her attention back to Felicia. “Go to the dining hall and start serving breakfast and make yourself useful for once.”

Felicia nodded. “R-right away, ma’am!” she bowed and scurried off.

Across from the kitchen was the dining hall. In contrast to the unending chaos of the kitchen, it seemed downright peaceful. A handful of lords and ladies sat at long, wooden tables, chattering about something or other. Some had their retainers with them, others had noble children at their sides. At the head of the room, at the head of the largest table, was the Crown Prince himself.

“Oh, Felicia!” another servant, a sprightly young girl with red hair, bumped into her. “Perfect! Can you take this tray-“ she shoved a heavy tray into Felicia’s arms – “and start serving Lord Xander’s table?”

Felicia nodded as the girl hastily shuffled back to the kitchen. She looked to the contents of her tray. A pitcher of water and glasses, and two baskets piled high with fresh-baked rolls. They smelled delicious, a light hint of cinnamon wafting off them.

“Good morning, milord!” she said brightly as she approached the Crown Prince’s table. As she set glasses down she scanned the assembled group.

Prince Xander had with him his two retainers – one she didn’t know, a grey-haired man with a somewhat handsome, if slightly sleazy, face. The other she had not met in person, but she had heard horror stories about Peri from the other maids. Apparently not a woman who was afraid to rough someone up for inconveniencing her. Felicia stepped carefully around her.

Prince Leo was present as well, though his retainers were nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning, Prince Leo!” Felicia said brightly as she poured his drink.

His brow was furrowed, his gaze unmoved from a thick book he was poring over. Felicia managed to catch a glimpse of the words ‘Silent Dragon’ before he turned the page and the words were lost in a sea of other ones. He said nothing to her and she sighed and moved on.

“G-good morning, Lady Camilla!” Felicia tried again.

Lady Camilla was preoccupied as well, it seemed. She was leaned over, whispering something to one of her retainers, a short woman with blue hair. Felicia had seen her around but never met her and could never remember her name. Something Hoshidan-sounding, she thought. Camilla whispered something into the smaller woman’s ear. She nodded and got up, pushing her chair in and nearly bowling over Felicia as she brushed past her.

“Biscuits, milady?” Felicia bowed slightly, offering the tray to Lady Camilla. The princess regarded the tray with disdain before waving Felicia off.

At the far end of the table, engaged in what appeared to be a game of tic-tac-toe, was the youngest princess, Elise. Her retainers Felicia _did_ know. Arthur was a kind man, almost as unlucky as herself, and Effie was a little scary but pleasant enough. Plus, she never minded Felicia’s questionable cooking.

“Good morning, Lady Elise!” Felicia said brightly. “Sir Arthur, Sir Effie. Biscuits?”

Effie nodded and took the entire basket.

“Effie!” Elise pouted in protest. “Save some for me and Arthur!”

“Sorry,” Effie mumbled through a mouthful of bread. “I was up training all morning, I’m starving!”

Elise reached across and snagged a pastry from Effie’s pile and shoved it into her mouth.

“Now, now, Lady Elise!” Arthur said. “Are those manners befitting a princess?”

“No,” Elise said, crumbs spilling from her mouth to the tablecloth. “But I’m a princess and they’re MY manners, so _yes_!”

Felicia giggled and finished pouring the three of them water. “Anything else?” she asked. “Tea, coffee? More bread, perhaps?”

Effie nodded as she ate but Elise shook her head. “No thank you, Felicia!”

“Um, Lady Elise,” Felicia dared to venture. “Do you know what’s happening this morning?”

Elise shrugged, washing down a mouthful of food with her water. “Ask Xander! Father had him in charge of some mission or something. I think?” she squinted, thinking. Then she shrugged again.

Felicia smiled politely. “I’ll do that. Don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything else you need.”

She finished her circuit of the table, finally ending at the Crown Prince’s spot.

“Good morning, Lord Xander,” Felicia said, trying to drum up a confident voice. “We have water and fresh rolls for you while the main course is being prepared. Would you like anything else? Tea, coffee, wine?”

Xander tilted his head at her, acknowledging her presence.

As she poured water, she spoke quietly. “Um, m-milord, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s all the fuss about? Is it about, the, um…” she paused, uncertain if she should continue to speak. Rumors seemed to be flying, but was knowledge of the dragon widespread? Did people know what the prisoner was?

“The prisoner?” Xander finished for her, and she sighed with relief. “Yes, it’s caused quite a stir throughout the castle.”

“May I ask what, um…” Felicia stopped pouring. “What do you intend to do with her-I, I mean it. What do you intend to do with it?”

Xander chuckled and patted her arm lightly. “Don’t you worry about that. We’ll have it all taken care of. It’s a military project, nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“W-well, um…” Felicia stared at the now-empty tray, looking at her nervous reflection in the polished silver. “Master Iago had my sister and I down in the dungeons last night. He and some lords and the two of us visited the, um, prisoner, and-“

Xander perked up. “He did _what_?”

“Um, we just-“ she stammered fearfully. Xander clutched her arm.

“Tell me. Tell me exactly what happened.”

With some degree of trepidation, Felicia recounted the evening’s events – how she and Flora had been washing dishes, how they were summoned to meet Iago. The dungeons. The horrifying, darkened cell.

Xander listened and nodded gravely. As Felicia finished her tale, he spoke. “Did you tell anyone else about this? Anyone at all?”

“No, sir,” Felicia held the empty tray against her chest, clutching it like a shield. “We went straight back to our room to sleep, sir. W-well, I didn’t _sleep_ , but-“

 Xander nodded and waved her off, lost in thought.

 

\--

 

“You _imbecile!_ You useless dolt! What have you done?!”

The voice made Felicia flinch. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping desperately that she wouldn’t start crying again.

“What do you have to say for yourself?!”

Felicia wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She tried to replay the events in her head. She was serving dinner, as usual, and…she tripped. Or something like that.

“It was o-one of Lord Xander’s retainers, ma’am,” Felicia made a lame attempt at an excuse. “S-she was upset because we were out of the poached fish, and sh-she shoved me over, and I, um, I tripped and-“ She felt the hand strike her face, cutting her off midsentence.

“You worthless fool,” her supervisor snapped.

“M-Miss Lara, I’m sorry, I’ll get it cleaned up right away, and I’ll do his laundry, and-“

Lara laughed, her voice harsh. “Knowing you, you’d make matters worse!”

Felicia’s face smarted, and her eyes stung, and her legs were sore and she wanted so badly to be back in her room with a nice book and a hot cup of tea, preferably brewed by someone else. She hadn’t meant to spill hot stew all over that nobleman, but no one ever does. He had been angry enough, and now she was getting chewed out for it a second time.

She accidentally let out a sniffle.

Lara’s sour face greeted her when she opened her eyes. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked. “You can’t cook, you can’t clean, you can’t do laundry, and you can’t even serve food without making a mess of things! What use are you?”

“I’m s-sorry,” Felicia stammered, wiping her eyes. “I can do better, I promise.”

“You’ve been given enough chances.” Lara wiped her hands on a dish towel, still frowning. “Lord Xander wants to see you. Some special task he has for you. If I were him, I’d put you in the courtyard to use as target practice.”

Felicia nodded, stifling her tears.

“Well don’t just stand there! Go, get moving!”

Felicia nodded, and she could hear mumbling as she walked out the door.

“If only she had half the talent of her sister.”

She made it almost to the end of the hall before bursting into tears. She covered her face with her hands and stumbled into an alcove, collapsing against the wall and sobbing. Everything had been going wrong, even from the first minute. She had been late, she had accidentally tied her bow on backwards, she burnt the soup for lunch, she knocked over a vase while dusting, and now _this!_ She leaned heavily against the wall and tried to steady her rasping breath.

And now Lord Xander had some special task for her. No doubt punishment for fighting with his retainer like that, or punishment for ratting on her to the castle staff. Something absolutely horrid, no doubt. She wiped her eyes and resumed her trek through the dark halls towards Xander’s office. She wiped her runny nose on the cuff of her sleeve.

“Maybe she was right. Maybe I am only good for target practice,” she mumbled.

The castle was quieter now, if nothing else. The hustle and bustle of the morning had died down, excitement and anticipation replaced with the slow crawl of bureaucracy and logistics. The maids and servants were, of course, ablaze with rumors. Everything had been considered. The prisoner was a Hoshidan royal. The prisoner was a goddess. The prisoner was a kitsune, or a wolfskin. The prisoner was a sentient faceless. A few guessed dragon, but the general consensus landed on prisoner of war. War had not been officially declared, but the rumor mill was in full force to let everyone know that it was coming soon.

Felicia walked slowly, taking the time to stretch her calves as she did. The heels really wore on her after a day of work, and that was true even on days when she slept properly.

Remembering Xander’s grave face, Felicia had opted to keep quiet and she could only hope that Flora had done the same.

She paused outside of Xander’s office and looked at the heavy wooden double-doors. They were intricated, carven things lined with flecks of gold trim. She reached out a shaking hand and, before knocking, tilted her head to check her reflection in the polished brass of the door handle. Her cheeks were still ruddy and her eyes a little pink, but she could pass for someone who wasn’t just crying. She knocked.

“Hello?” came the response.

“I-it’s me, milord,” Felicia said meekly. “I was told to report to you?”

“Ah, yes, Felicia!” came a voice tinged with recognition. “I requested you specifically and your supervisor assured me it wouldn’t be an issue. Come in, come in.”

Felicia pushed the door open just enough to slip through the crack.

Xander’s office was space that befit the man himself – bookshelves pressed against the wall, a heavy oak desk at which he sat, folders and files and books and documents neatly arranged around his workspace. A gold candelabra rested on a side table, bathing the room in flickering candlelight. Overhead, a skylight was set into the sloped ceiling. It let in nothing but the view of the chasm around them and the grey sky above.

“You wanted to see me, milord?” Felicia curtsied politely.

“Yes, yes. Please, sit,” he gestured to a chair across from his desk.

Felicia sunk into the chair, almost literally receding into the soft red cushions. It was comfortable, sure, but she also got the feeling she was slouching backwards. She opted to sit up straight.

“Lara tells me you’ve been having some…difficulties.” Xander reached up to his face and removed a pair of wireframe glasses from his nose. He set it on the desk and folded his hands in front of him.

“I suppose so, milord,” Felicia said, staring at the glasses and not the man before her. He was intimidating, even without his thick black armor. The strong chin and bright golden hair betrayed his royal lineage, and even his fairly modest plainclothes could not hide his powerful, athletic form. He always exuded such an air of dignity and strength, and now was no exception. He adjusted his cravat slightly, expectantly.

“Y-yes, milord,” Felicia admitted, blush creeping into her face. “I spilled some stew on a lord, and I-“

Xander held up a hand, silencing her. “I don’t need the details, Felicia. I’m going to be honest with you. From what I’ve heard, your performance has been rocky since you started working here. You seem to leave a trail of broken dishes and dirty laundry wherever you go.” He chucked slightly and Felicia winced. _She_ certainly didn’t find it funny.

“At any rate,” he continued, “I have been asked to reassign you.”

“Reassign me?” Felicia asked. She wrung the hem of her skirt nervously. “I-I’m not being sent away, am I?”

Xander chuckled again. “No, no, of course not. Just a change in your duties.”

Felicia nodded.

“You told me you’ve seen the creature.”

Felicia felt her stomach turn. She looked up, hoping her nervousness wasn’t as plain on her face as it was in her heart. “Y-yes, sir. Just once.”

Xander nodded. “Contrary to Master Iago’s insistence that it does not, this creature will require some degree of care.”

Felicia nodded.

“But,” Xander sighed. “I must confess I am no expert in these matters and must defer to Iago’s judgement. Unfortunately, his word is what we must rely on. As we learn more about this creature and begin to understand it, we will need assistance in our operations. And to that end, I suggested that you become my personal assistant in these matters.”

“Your personal assistant?” Felicia asked, not quite understanding. She clutched her skirt even tighter.

“Well, not mine exactly. But an assistant for the duration of the project. It will still be largely menial chores – cleaning, organizing, fetching things, so on and so forth. But you’d be out of Madam Lara’s hair and you’d have work you can accomplish. Does this sound agreeable to you?”

Felicia gulped. “W-what sort of, um…what sort of duties would I be performing?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot say for sure until we learn more about it,” Xander admitted. “For now, though, menial tasks. I need help organizing Master Iago’s research files, and Leo claims to have several reference documents he would like indexed. In the meantime, you will also be charged with providing food and water to the creature. Iago prescribed a stringent diet of water and uncooked meat once a week. He claims that any more could upset the creature’s delicate internal ecosystem.” He scratched his chin. “As well as keeping it from regaining enough strength that it could prove a danger. Do you understand?”

“I…I think so, milord.” Felicia mulled it over in her head. She desperately did not want to spend her time working with Master Iago and his wicked cronies. But at the same time, was he any worse than her current supervisor? And perhaps she would mostly be working with Lord Leo and Lord Xander, both fine gentlemen in their own rights. She relaxed her grip on her skirt, unclenching her stiff fingers.

 “What do you think?” Xander asked. “I have no intention of forcing you to perform duties you have no desire to do, but I feel it might perhaps be a better fit for you than your current workload.”

Felicia could still see it when she closed her eyes. She could still hear the scrape of nails against metal, see the foaming blood and spittle. She swallowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worldbuilding? That's what you people are here for, right? Not monster romance, but worldbuilding?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY i had written this entire chapter out and just......forgot it, tucked into the corner of my WIP folder. BUT HERE IT IS SORRY FOR ThE WAIT

“Let’s go, maggots! Put some effort into it!” a harsh voice boomed across the courtyard. “I wanna see _blood_!”

Felicia sat at the edge of the training yard, watching the soldiers fight. She nervously fingered her sandwich, gently unwrapping the thin layer of wax paper folded neatly around it. She sniffed the bread curiously. “Pumpernickel?” she asked, turning to her sister.

“It was on sale,” Flora explained as she quickly and deftly unpacked the remainder of their lunch. “I figured a treat was in order to celebrate my sister’s big promotion.”

“It’s not really a promotion,” Felicia sunk her teeth into the sandwich. She chewed thoughtfully, making a point of keeping herself from speaking with her mouth full – Flora had already scolded her about that enough times. The meat was kind of chewy and tasted something like saltpork, but not quite. She swallowed with effort. “It’s kinda…a sideways switch, I think.”

Flora shrugged and passed Felicia an apple. “With any luck, you’ll have better luck with this than you’ve had with…” she trailed off. “Everything else.”

Felicia nodded. “Yeah.”

The two ate in silence, watching the soldiers train. Hans, one of the kingsguard, was overseeing sparring matches between the new recruits. He was known far and wide for his cruelty just as much as his prowess with an axe, and it was clear he didn’t mind the trainees getting their hands dirty.

The training plaza was high above the castle, a large circular courtyard suspended in the center of the Krakenburg chasm. In the center was a magnificent carven statue of a dragon – a proper dragon, Felicia was quick to correct herself – and around the edges were stone balustrades to keep pedestrians from falling off into the chasm below. Benches dotted the outside edge, though now the courtyard was nearly empty save the soldiers. It was a beautiful place when not filled with the clash of steel against steel and the grunting of men and women doing their damnedest to beat the daylights out of each other. Felicia winced as a man brought the flat of his broadsword against a younger boy with a mighty two-handed swing, sending the boy sprawling to the ground.

She often came here for lunch, but now that the weather was turning it was more and more the site of Hans’ unique brand of exercise.

“Is something bothering you, Flora?” Felicia asked, noting her sister’s silence.

Flora shook her head. “Not at all. Just tired, is all.”

“Do you want to go home and rest? I can cover your duties for the afternoon. Lord Xander said I don’t need to report to the library until this evening.”

Flora frowned.

“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Felicia asked, suddenly worried she had upset her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“Shh!” Flora cut her off, holding up a hand. She was peering across the courtyard at something. “Look,” she said softly. Felicia did as requested.

They could see Hans on the far side of the yard, speaking to someone else. His loud, brash voice had been absent for some time, though the soldiers continued to fight. Hans leaned down and said something to the smaller figure next to him. He grinned, his crooked yellow teeth noticeable even at this distance. The figure said something that made him laugh.

“What’s happening?” Felicia asked, leaning left and right to try and get a better look. “Who is he talking to?”

“I’m not sure,” Flora said. She set her lunch down and leaned forward. “It looks like…Iago?”

Felicia’s stomach curled. Her time working with him in the past few days had done little to dispel her distaste for the king’s advisor. Moreover, she found him to be even worse than she had initially thought – he was impatient, unkind, and his fingers always felt cold and clammy whenever she had the misfortune of touching them. She frowned. “What’s he doing here? I didn’t think he ever ventured this high out of the castle.”

Flora nodded slowly. “I don’t know, but it can’t be good. Wherever that man goes, something nasty is sure to follow.”

As if on cue, Hans loudly rattled his axe against his dented iron practice shield. “Listen up, worms!” he shouted. “Stop yer scrappin’!”

The soldiers stopped, as commanded. Some, unable to stand, staggered to the ground in heaps of bruised flesh and bloody clothes. Others rested heavily on their worn spears and dull swords, and still others simply flopped to the ground, not wounded but exhausted.

Hans walked forward, dragging his axe across the stone with a horrible scraping sound. He stopped in front of one boy, a thin-looking young man with a bruised face. When they received the order to cease sparring, he had evidently been one of the soldiers who collapsed to the ground with fatigue. Hans knelt before him, leaning against his axe like a crutch. “You there, sir.”

“M-me?” the boy trembled, scrambling to stand up at attention. Hans pushed him back to the ground with the point of his finger.

“No, no,” Hans snarled. “By all means, continue to rest. You’ve been working hard, have you not?”

“S-sir?” the boy asked.

“I asked you a question, boy,” Hans said. “Have you been working hard?”

“O-of course, sir!” the boy stammered. His eyes were wide with uncertainty. He likely knew it was a trick, but he couldn’t find where the trick was. Such was any interaction with the kingsguard – they were often cruel, and they delighted in backing their own men into corners.

“Would you like to rest?” Hans asked.

“S-sir,” the boy said noncommittally. A safe answer, Felicia thought. Better to not speak at all and let Hans control the direction of the conversation. She watched, her eyes shifting back and forth between the uncomfortable confrontation and her sister’s fixed gaze.

Hans stood up and the boy collapsed back to the ground, relieved. “Well?” Hans called out. “What do you worms think? Do you think you deserve a little reward?”

No one spoke. Felicia wrung the edge of her skirt. She wished she had picked another spot to eat lunch. She let her gaze wander to the sky above, hoping if she didn’t look then maybe nothing would happen.

“Sir!” a confident cry rang out. It was a woman, a muscular soldier with short brown hair. She planted her sword in the stone next to her self-assuredly.

Hans grinned a wicked grin. “Now that’s the attitude I would like to see!”

Flora nudged Felicia. “We should leave. Whatever he has planned, I’m sure it’s not good.” Felicia agreed wholeheartedly. The two stood up slowly, trying to stay half-crouched and slip out without being noticed. Hans seemed to be preoccupied with his little game.

“We need volunteers!” his voice boomed across the courtyard, echoing off the statue and bouncing down the chasm walls. “For now, we’re looking for five volunteers for a special little project. This will be a first-come, first-serve basis.”

Felicia and Flora made their way to the stone walkway extending out to the chasm wall, but as they walked they could still hear Hans’ voice.

“Now,” he continued. “There are thirty of you new recruits here. If you would like to be chosen for this project, you need to show your excitement.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” came a rousing response.

“To qualify, you must best your fellow recruits in a special little tournament.” Felicia could hear his voice even as she descended back towards the castle. “Starting now! Last five standing will be chosen.”

 

\--

 

“S-sir,” Felicia stammered uncertainly. “I…um, Lord Xander requested that I bring, um, f-food and-“ her voice was cut off by Iago slamming down his book onto his desk.

“So?” he snapped harshly. “You have your orders. You don’t need _my_ permission if Lord Xander has commanded you.”

‘Office’ was perhaps not the right words for Iago’s quarters. Workshop was closer to the mark, though the only craft he seemed to practice here was cruelty. The entire room was swathed in shadow, dark curtains draped over the windows to keep what meager light there was out. An alchemy table was the centerpiece of the room, a heavy table made of black carven wood. Spread across the face were a number of things Felicia couldn’t identify – beakers, vials, cups and glasses, lots of metal and glass and candles and books. A beaker was set over an open flame, a dark, viscous liquid boiling inside. Iago was standing behind it, angrily paging through a thick, weathered book with yellow pages. He turned the pages with such ferocity that the candles flickered.

Felicia had no idea how he could even read in the darkness of his workshop. She tightened her grip on her cargo, a wooden bucket of water in one hand and a bucket piled with ground meat in the other. She winced at Iago’s voice. “M-milord, I…” she took a breath and tried to speak with confidence. “I d-don’t know where the, um…the prisoner’s cell is, milord.”

Iago frowned. He looked up from his book.

Even in the dark, he was clearly visible. His pale skin was almost luminescent, like a ghost wreathed in dark silk and silver gilding. Felicia gulped. She tried again.

“Um, s-sir, Lord Xander asked that you show me w-wher-“

“Silence!” he snapped. “Do you think I do not understand what you are asking?” He looked from his array of chemistry implements to the trembling girl before him. His gaze seemed to hover on the dark boiling liquid.

“I’m busy,” he said dismissively. “This is a delicate operation, and I cannot have you…” he looked at her. “mucking it up.”

Felicia nodded. “Y-yes, sir, but-“

“But what?”

“Lord Xander s-said that the creature hasn’t been fed since the last time you brought me to her- s-sorry, I mean it. It’s been almost two weeks, and-“

Iago snarled. He reached to his belt and began fussing with something. “Here,” he snapped. He tossed a keyring to Felicia – four heavy iron keys. In the dark she couldn’t even see the ring as it arced through the air and skittered across the ground. “It’s cell is at the end of hallway D. I trust you can find it yourself.”

Felicia dropped her buckets and began to scramble on the ground of the keyring. “O-of course, milord!” The keys felt heavy and cold in her hands. The ring was rusty and as she tried to put it in one of her pockets, orange flakes of corroded metal smudged the white fabric of her skirt.

“Hurry back,” Iago growled, turning back to his work. “If you lose those keys, I’ll have your head.”

Felicia got the feeling he was far from exaggerating. She left his office behind, the keys jingling loudly in her pocket, each step reminding her where exactly she was headed. The walk through Krakenburg’s comfortable, well-lit halls seemed to go by startlingly quickly. She had traversed these same halls dozens, hundreds, perhaps thousands of times. How quickly her feet seemed to bring her to one of the few doors in the castle she had seldom seen behind.

The dungeon. For the second time in as many weeks, she found herself face-to-face with the den of nightmares that had dogged her sleep. She took a deep breath and tightened her grip on the two bucket handles. Once a week. That’s all it is. One trip a week. She could do that.

It’s not even like the dungeons were unsafe, really. At least, she tried to convince herself of that. They were labyrinthine and dark, but constant patrols ensured she would never go more than a few minutes without seeing another soul. And those guards knew she would be coming, right? They could surely point her in the correct direction. She’d be in and out. Quick, no worries. With renewed confidence, she opened the door to the dungeons.

A single whiff of that damp, acrid air dissolved her confidence. She stared into the gaping maw before her, the stairs descending deeper and deeper down into some unknown horror. She gulped.

The only thing that propelled her spindly legs forward was the memory of that…that _thing_. The pitiful little creature scrabbling at its bindings. Human or no, nothing deserved a slow death of starvation. Not even a monster. Felicia took a deep breath and descended into the dungeons.

Try as she might, she couldn’t remember the path she had last taken. Even at the foot of the stairs, where the hallways forked off in multiple directions, she couldn’t recall which direction was the first to go in. She grimaced, taking the last step down onto the hard stone floor.

The hallway split out from here, forward, left, and right.

“D. He said it was at the end of hallway D,” she whispered to herself. She frowned. Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as she thought – D would be a fourth hallway, so it must not be that simple of a layout. She walked forward cautiously. Set into the wall was a rusted metal plaque caked in dust and grime. She wiped it off with her sleeve.

“Interrogation rooms, Cell Block A, Cell Block B,” she read aloud. “Okay. Come on, Felicia.” She took the righthand hallway, in the direction that allegedly housed Cell Block B. The water in her bucket sloshed back and forth, some spilling out onto the stone as she walked. She tried to keep focused. Positive. She was suddenly aware of all the sounds and smells and sensations she had been trying to block out – the muted groaning and moaning, the creaking of wood and metal, the overall atmosphere of creeping dread that seemed to seep from underneath the wooden doors and slip between the metals bars.

Heavy footsteps echoes all around her. Hey eyes widened, and she let slip a soft, startled gasp. “I-it’s just a guard,” she tried to comfort herself. She struggled to talk to herself, the words slipping out between frantic hyperventilation. “It’s not-“

She rounded a corner. “AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” she let out a squeal as she saw a horrifying monster revealed in the torchlight. It was a great, hulking behemoth, all red fur and glistening copper skin. Two great horns protruded from its head and its eyes were a deep, dark red that sparkled in the torchlight.

Felicia dropped her buckets as she fell to her backside. She scrambled backwards in fear as the monster lumbered towards her, reaching out a furry red claw.

“You lost, missy?” a voice echoed from behind the creature’s great copper maw.

Felicia gasped for breath. Gods, did she _HATE_ the berserker armor. “S-sorry,” she stammered in embarrassment, glad the shadowy lighting was hiding her bright pink blush. “Y-you startled me!”

“Sorry about that, missy!” the guard said, kneeling over her. He held out a hand – not a claw, as Felicia had thought, but simply a copper gauntlet lined with thick red fur. Felicia took it and the guard pulled her to her feet. “You lost?” the guard repeated.

Felicia picked up her buckets again. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I’m looking for h-hallway D?”

The guard nodded, his thick helmet bouncing slightly as he did. “Hallway D? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing there?” He gestured to her buckets. “Here, I’ll carry those for you.”

The two set off down the dark corridors together. “Um, L-Lord Xander has me working on, um…a special project.”

“The dragon, huh?” the guard asked. They rounded another corner.

“Yeah,” Felicia said, surprised. Though, she supposed, it made some sort of sense that the soldiers would know the nature of the thing they’re guarding.

“You seen it?” the guard asked.

Felicia nodded. “Just once. How about you?”

The guard shook his head. “Can’t say I have. I’ve heard it though. ‘specially late at night.”

“Oh?”

They rounded another corner. Felicia appreciated the break from carrying the buckets, but it only gave her more of an opportunity to pick at loose frayed thread in her sleeve’s cuffs. She was nervous, and even the presence of a guard did little do dissuade that feeling.

“That’s right. You can hear it, sometimes. Only if you pass close enough to its door.”

“What sort of sounds can you hear?”

“Dunno, exactly. Sometimes growling, snarling, that sorta thing. Reminds me a bit of how a feral dog sounds. Sometimes, though, when it’s real quiet, you can hear it whimpering.”

“Whimpering?” Felicia asked. Her chest felt constricted and she didn’t know why. The claustrophobic corridor and the heavy, oppressive air, no doubt. She fussed with her shirt collar.

“Yessir,” the guard said. “Lorenz – sorry, that’s m’ pal, said one time he heard it whining and sniveling. Said it sounded like a mewling cat, he did.”

“Does it make sounds a lot?”

The guard shook his head. “Not anymore. When it was first brought it, it sure made a right racket. Lotsa roaring and snarling and you could hear the chains rattlin’ all night long. Been quiet for a while now, though.”

They arrived at another fork in the hallway. The guard held out Felicia’s buckets. “Well, here you are.” He nodded down one of the forks. “Hallway D. Right at the end, there.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” Felicia said, taking the buckets. “I really don’t know how I would have found it without you.”

“You seem a bright girl,” the guard said. “Sure you woulda made it one way or another!”

“Thanks,” Felicia gave a small smile.

“Oh!” the guard said. “Before I forget! Findin’ your way back should be easy. It’s left, left, right, left, left. Got it?”

“Left, left, right, left, left,” Felicia repeated back. “I think so.”

The guard tilted his head towards her, the thick metal helmet gesturing towards her in a nod of acknowledgement. “Now don’t let me find you gettin’ lost again, you hear?”

“I’ll do my best!”

“Good girl,” the guard said. And then Felicia was alone again, the heavy footsteps fading away and the soft despair of isolation sinking in. She shivered. A kind man, and certainly one she hoped she would encounter again. But she had a job to do and by the gods, she’d do it. Even if it meant facing down a labyrinth of terror once every couple of days. She set off down the final hallway.

The door loomed at the end, foreboding as it was in her nightmares. It seemed almost to breathe, like the room beyond was inhaling and exhaling, the door the only think holding back a flood of terror and violence and despair. She set down her cargo and reached into her pocket. The keys were still there, thank the gods. She fumbled with the ring. There were four keys, each slightly different than the other, so unfortunately, she’d have to guess. She stepped closer to the door. She pressed her ear against it.

There was nothing coming from the other side. No growling, no roaring. No scratching. Nothing but silence, the pregnant silence of a space that gave no indication of what was inside other than _something_. With a trembling hand she reached up and clutched the porthole. She slid it back.

The room was nothing but inky blackness inside. She took a torch from a wall sconce and held it up, dismayed when it only illuminated a ring of stone floor around the door. The dragon was in there somewhere, but the light didn’t reveal it.

She replaced the torch and began the long, arduous process of fitting the keys with the locks. She got the first lock on her third try. Second lock on her first. Third on her second. And finally…one key left. She stared.

It had been easy to focus her mind on the task of matching keys, but now, with one remaining…she gripped it tightly, the rust caking her fingers. It slid into the door’s inset lock with an ominous scrape of metal against metal. She cringed at the sound. The final lock unlatched, and she could practically feel the door loosen.

“Come on, Felicia. Just in and out,” she reminded herself. She could just set the buckets down and be on her way. She took deep breaths.

The door scraped open slowly. The room was pitch-black inside, seeming to almost swallow the light from the corridor. Felicia took the torch out of the wall sconce yet again and with her free hand picked up the bucket filled with water. She carefully stepped forward. Her heels clicked against the stone, the sound almost painfully loud against the silent void of the cell. She ducked under the doorway.

The dragon was crumpled in the corner, its greasy silver hair splayed around its head like a messy mane.

Felicia’s chest caught. She had forgotten just how much it had resembled a girl. No, not resembled. _Was_. This _was_ a girl. Even if she wasn’t human, she was undeniably female, right? At least, she appeared to be.

She was almost unmoving, slumped in a heap of limbs and hair, curled into a loose ball. She didn’t move as Felicia approached with the torch. As the flickering flame lit the room, Felicia almost fainted.

Pools of blood dotted the stone floor, one almost causing Felicia to slip as she walked. The dragon, too, seemed to be splattered with dried blood. Some of her hair was matted in dried brown clumps and as the torchlight passed over her body, Felicia could see what looked like wounds – bruises across her face and needlemarks tracking down her arm. Felicia stifled a gasp and pressed her hand against her mouth.

The dragon stirred. She weakly rolled onto her stomach and tried to push herself up. She let loose a spasm of hacking gasps. As she coughed, she splattered blood onto the tile below her. Her arms seemed to give out and she collapsed back to the tile.

Felicia felt her stomach turn. It had been fear, before – revulsion at the foul smell and the pools of dried blood and the dread of confronting a monster, but now it turned to disgust - not at the dragon, but at the Nohrians. At Iago.

Dragon she may be, she deserved better than…than _this_. Too weak to do more than writhe in pain. Clearly sick, clearly suffering. She tried again to push herself to her knees, this time succeeding. She knelt in her own blood and turned to look at her visitor. She saw Felicia and Felicia could see her panic.

Even in her weakness, the dragon scuttled backwards, trying in vain to bare her teeth frighteningly. As she did, Felicia spied gaps in her mouthful of fangs. No doubt the same “samples” she had seen discussed before.

The dragon was breathing quickly, its eyes dark and fixed on Felicia. As she tried to approach it, the dragon scuttled again.

“N-no!” Felicia held out a hand. “I’m not here to hurt you!”

The dragon pressed herself up against the far wall. She coughed again, doubling over and hacking up more blood.

“Here!” Felicia said, trying to sound friendly despite her fear. “H-here.” She held out the bucket of water and slowly sidled forward. “Here. This is for you.” She set the bucket down and backed away, holding up her empty hand in the universal gesture of ‘look, I’m not armed’.

The dragon crept forward slowly, regarding the bucket with suspicion. She peered over the rim and then immediately plunged her face into the bucket, lapping at the water with her forked tongue. Felicia backed up, giving her space.

“I have food, too!” Felicia said brightly. “Here!” she fetched the other bucket from the hallway and set it next to the water. Unlike last time, where the creature seemed to be powered by a relentless frenzy, this time she seemed to weak to do more than clutch at handfuls of the meat before shoving them into her mouth. She only managed a few bites before collapsing back to the tile.

“It’s okay,” Felicia said calmly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to rush.”

The creature began shuddering, almost hyperventilating.

“H-hey,” Felicia said, approaching it slowly. “Hey, are you okay?”

The dragon gasped for breath and pushed itself back up to a sitting position.

“O-okay,” Felicia said, backing up slowly. “Um, I’m g-gonna go now. Uh…” she almost tripped as she backed up. Suddenly the dragon lunged forward, diving towards Felicia. The only thing that kept them from colliding was the metal collar and chain that yanked back, plucking the dragon from mid-air as she dove. She collapsed to the ground and let out a groan, writhing and clawing at the collar. She rolled, struggling to pull forward against the chain. She reached a hand out, clawing the air at Felicia. She growled and bared her fangs, snarling as she tried in vain to lunge again.

Felicia stumbled backwards, slipping and falling to her backside in the corridor. She dropped her torch and the light flickered, plunging the cell once again into darkness. Felicia snatched up the torch and got to her feet to drag the door shut. As she did, the torchlight gave one last glimpse at the snarling creature within – the desperate, clawing hands, the frantic tugging against the chain, the gnashing teeth. Her reptilian eyes blinked rapidly, and in the flickering torchlight Felicia could see tears cascading down her dirty cheeks.


End file.
